Justinian (14 page)

Theodora's heart swelled with pride as the crowd began to cheer. Eat your heart out, Hecebolus, she thought, and you Greens who taunted my family and me when we appealed to you for help in the Hippodrome all those years ago, and you narrow-minded snobs among the aristocracy and, worst of all, among the nouveaux riches, who'd looked down on me because I trod the boards. From being regarded as the lowest of the low I'm now above the lot of you, married to one destined to become the ruler of New Rome, the most powerful man in the world. Fondly, she glanced at the tall, handsome figure to her right: this kind, brilliant, sensitive, ambitious,
vulnerable
man – whom she'd mended and made whole, and who would never come to harm as long as she was by his side. She remembered their first meeting, a year ago . . .

Following her return to the capital from Antioch, Theodora invested some of the money Timothy had given her into renting a property in Region VIII near the Julian Harbour – an area populated by small craftsmen, where in consequence the rents were not too high. Above the living quarters of the house was a large, well-lit garret, which (consulting Macedonia's business plan) she set about converting into a workshop for spinning wool. Bypassing middlemen, she contacted (from a list again supplied by Macedonia) various suppliers from whom she obtained stocks of fine quality wool grown by sheep-farmers in the high central plateaux of Anatolia. Next, following a cause close to her heart, she recruited out-of-work actresses as workers in her business. As she knew from bitter personal experience, they might otherwise be tempted into prostitution to make ends meet. With experienced spinners hired to train her workers, Theodora's business flourished, as clothiers, soon recognizing the quality of her product, competed to buy her yarns.

She longed to offer employment to girls forced to work in brothels, but accepted, sadly, that this was something beyond her present power to achieve. The plight of such females was wretched, amounting to virtual slavery. With the hope of enlisting a powerful ally in tackling this evil, she decided to approach Petrus Sabbatius (renamed Justinian on his becoming consul, she discovered), to whom she had a letter of introduction provided by Macedonia. His impressive list of titles suggested a man of standing and importance who might, she thought, be able to help provided she could win him round. Her hopes were further raised when she learned that this Justinian was none other than the nephew of the emperor.

Presenting herself at the Chalke or ‘Brazen House' from its great bronze
doors – the grand entrance vestibule of the imperial palace – she produced her letter of introduction. ‘You'll be lucky,' grunted the porter after briefly scanning the document. ‘His
Nobilissimus
ain't receiving visitors these days – not since he got back from Arabia. Suppose there's no harm in trying, though. Ask at the
Magnaura
– that's the main audience hall.'

Entering the sprawling collection of buildings and gardens connected by porticoed walkways, Theodora, with some difficulty, eventually tracked down the
Magnaura
. The
silentiarius
on duty in the corridor outside, studied the letter then shook his head. ‘I'm afraid you've had a journey for nothing,' he declared in tones of polite regret. ‘The Count of the Domestics – His Most Noble, the Patrician – is unable to see anyone at present.'

‘Oh, please,' Theodora entreated, assuming her most winning smile, ‘it's about something that's very important to me. He may be the only person who can help, I think.' Feeling in her purse for an obol piece with which to tip the man, she remembered, just in time, that these were
gentlemen
ushers, who would be greatly offended if offered a gratuity. Something of the charm and force of personality that had so affected Timothy seemed to penetrate the armour of the usher – member of a tribe of past masters in the art of administering courteous rebuffs.

‘Wait here,' he said with a wry grin, shaking his head. ‘God knows why I'm doing this.' And he set off down the corridor. Returning after a few minutes he declared, ‘The Patrician will see you now,' and conducted her along a maze of passages to a porchway opening onto a small colonnaded garden. Chin resting on his hands, a solitary figure sat beside a fountain.

‘Theodora – the protégée of Macedonia of Antioch, Patricius,' announced the usher, and withdrew.

The seated figure rose and smiled at Theodora, who was immediately struck by several things about him: tall and good-looking, the man had a quiet presence; his affable expression suggested a kind and gracious personality; but dark shadows beneath the eyes, and lines around the mouth, hinted at some secret and deeply troubling worry.

‘Macedonia – a charming lady, as I recall,' the man said, his voice low and pleasant, yet with a note of underlying sadness. ‘One of our chief suppliers of olive oil and wines. I would gladly be of service to one who is her friend.'

Theodora explained how, with help from Macedonia's business plan, she had started her wool-spinning project and staffed it with unemployed actresses, thus saving them from having to sell their bodies to make ends meet. ‘But what I have really set my heart on, Patricius,' she went on
(copying the form of address the
silentiarius
had used), ‘is to do something to help those whose only livelihood is prostitution.'

‘I don't wish to appear hard-hearted,' said the other gently, ‘but if that is what they choose to do, why should they be helped? Though Augustine might disagree, God, as Pelagius points out, has given us all free will to make our own decisions.'

‘But Patricius,' declared Theodora passionately, ‘the girls who work in brothels are
not
there from choice! Let me explain. Prostitution is big business, providing for a certain loathsome type of parasite a chance to make a quick and easy living. These pimps travel round the provinces, persuading poor families to part with their daughters for a few gold coins – a fortune to penurious
coloni
,
*
often saddled with crippling debt. The inducement offered never varies: a promise of a better life for the girl in Constantinople or some other big city, working as a governess or maid or such like, to some wealthy aristocrat. Once they arrive at their destination however, a cruel surprise awaits the poor, duped girls. Sold on by the pimps to brothel-owners, they are asked to sign a contract; of course they've no idea what they're letting themselves in for, thus legally binding themselves over to a life of prostitution. No fine clothes or rich food, no light domestic work plus a good salary with which to augment their parents' income. Only a wretched and degrading form of slavery, from which the only escape is to become too old or worn-out to be of further use to their master – when they're thrown out onto the street to fend for themselves'

‘That's appalling!' the Patricius exclaimed, appearing genuinely shocked. ‘I confess I'd no idea such a thing went on. Thank you, Theodora, for bringing it to my attention. Be assured, I'll speak about this to my uncle. Between us, with the help of one Procopius – a brilliant young lawyer who has done good work for us – we will make a beginning: draft measures which, hopefully, will eventually become legislation.'

‘That's wonderful!' declared Theodora, hardly able to believe that her appeal had produced such an immediate and positive response. ‘Dare I ask, Patricius – how long?'

‘Unfortunately, Theodora, such things take time. From what you say, the practice would seem deep-rooted and widespread, involving ruthless men with vested interests. But imperial decrees have cracked tougher nuts before. Have no fear that something will be done – just as soon as we can get the wheels of law to turn. Come to me next week – same day, same time – and I'll tell you what we've managed to do.'

Delighted to have made such progress, Theodora left the palace (Region I) and returned to her workshop in Region VIII. In the course of the short journey, she recalled something which caused her heart to lift. On parting from the patrician, she had noted that the signs of worry on his face appeared to have lifted somewhat. Her imagination? Or the result of her having provided him with a positive interest to help take him out of himself? That it was an altruistic cause he had taken up convinced her that she was dealing with a good and conscientious man, who would back his words with action.

During the next few weeks, Theodora had regular meetings with the patrician. At first, their discussions were confined to juridical details regarding the legal status of prostitutes. But over time, discovering a mutual interest in theology and certain aspects of philosophy as they impinged on law, these topics were included in debate. When Theodora (thanks to her voracious reading in Timothy's library in Alexandria) was able to quote Isocrates
*
in the latter context, Justinian was visibly impressed, and took to consulting her opinion on various matters on a regular basis.

This enabled Theodora to put in a good word for the Monophysites. ‘The people of Syria and Egypt are your loyal subjects, Patricius,' she pleaded, ‘who wish only to be allowed to worship in their own way. By continuing to persecute them, you run the risk of alienating half the Empire. I ask you – is it worth it? And is it right that brilliant minds like Timothy and Severus, good men and ornaments of Rome, should be made to suffer for their faith?'

‘You're fast becoming a Seneca to my Nero,' replied the Patricius with a smile. ‘Hopefully the
young
Nero – before power went to his head. As always, Theodora, your words give food for thought. You have a point; I daresay in our concern for uniformity my uncle and I may have erred on the side of being overzealous. I'll mull over what you've said.'

Without either being consciously aware that such a thing was happening, a deep friendship began to form between the two – something at last openly acknowledged when the patrician invited her to call him by his name, Justinianus. So it seemed entirely natural and unobtrusive when, one day (during a bout of the depression which visited him periodically), she found herself asking, as a concerned friend would, if anything was troubling him.

Justinian looked up, his face a mask of misery. ‘I'm glad you asked me that,' he said. ‘For far too long I've kept my tribulation to myself. But you, I think, alone of everyone I know, will understand – even perhaps be able to offer me advice.' He paused, then went on in a whisper, ‘I'm cursed, you see, Theodora. It seems I have the gift of inspiring others to wish to follow me; a fatal gift, I fear, like that vouchsafed to Midas. Only with me, it's not myself I harm, but others.' It all came out then, as though gushing from some deep well of sorrow and regret: the deaths of Atawulf and Valerian, the duel with Nearchus in his student days, his near-fatal hesitation before recommending Roderic for emperor to the Senate. In each case, cowardly irresolution on his part had prevented or nearly prevented him from acting, leaving his conscience permanently scarred.

‘In my dreams I still see that helmet on the cliff!' he cried, ‘ – still hear Atawulf 's despairing calls for help, still see my dearest friend Valerian spitted by a Galla spear, still feel the blow I inflicted on myself in the Cistern of Nomus. Look – I yet bear the mark!' And he pointed to a faint, star-shaped scar on his forehead. ‘The truth is, Theodora, I'm bad for those I allow to become close to me.' He shot Theodora an anguished glance. ‘I'll probably turn out to be bad for you as well – something I would not have happen for the world. Perhaps it's best we don't see each other any more.'

Instinctively, Theodora rushed over to him, took him in her arms. She felt an overwhelming surge of pity and affection. ‘Oh, my dear,' she murmured, cradling his head against her breast, ‘there's nothing wrong with you that can't be put right. I think I understand what the root of your problem is. In the past, you've seen yourself – as many Romans think they
ought
to see themselves – as a man of Mars: strong, courageous, displaying active leadership. But perhaps you're not a man of action,' she continued gently. ‘And there's no shame in admitting that. Inspiring and directing men need not consist in leading from the front. Let others do that for you. Don't you think that that's where your true genius may lie, Justinian – in choosing the right men to carry out your plans?'

‘Perhaps you're right,' breathed the other, wonderingly. He paused, then went on, ‘Yes – I believe you
are
right. Why could I not have seen that for myself?'

‘Sometimes it takes another to see in us what we can't ourselves perceive. Isn't there a verse in Scripture somewhere about motes and beams?'

‘“Why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother's eye, but perceivest
not the beam that is in thine own eye?”' quoted Justinian with a smile. ‘Luke 6, verse 41.'

From that moment Justinian's mind began to heal. Freed from the burden of past guilt, he began to form plans – schemes that suddenly now blossomed (from what had previously been vague aspirations) into designs for ambitious projects. As though it were the most natural thing in the world, he found himself eagerly discussing these with Theodora: reform of Roman Law; great buildings which would incorporate exciting new design ideas, enabling, for example, the construction of stupendous domes of a size never before conceived; and – something he had hardly yet dared to think about, so mind-blowing in its boldness was the concept – the recovery of the Western Empire from the barbarians who had overrun it. ‘Together, we shall make Rome greater than she's ever been before,' he enthused.

‘Together?' Theodora smiled indulgently. ‘You flatter me, Justinian. You make us sound like partners.'

A silence followed, a silence in which both came to realize that an invisible boundary had somehow been crossed. ‘We
could
be partners, Theodora,' Justinian said at last. ‘In every way.' He smiled gravely. ‘I'm hopelessly in love with you, you know – something I've never felt before for any woman. Theodora – I'm asking if you'll marry me.'